If You're Gone
by Ambrosia3
Summary: Set three months after the events of Grave, Anya picks up the pieces... literally. Anya and Tara friendship. (Please R&R)


Title: If You're Gone  
  
Author: Ambrosia (o0cellar_door0o@hotmail.com)  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Pairing: Anya/Tara friendship  
  
Summary: Set three months after the events of "Grave", Anya reflects on her friendship with Tara.  
  
Disclaimer: Not my characters, I don't own anything, yada, yada, yada, please don't sue ;) .  
  
Note: This fic was initially written in response to a challenge put forward by Jessamyn at Imorta... but it kinda got away from me.   
  
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Pulling her coat more securely around her, the thousand and some year-old ex fiancé of Xander Harris slash ex /ex/ vengeance demon approached The Magic Box. Reaching the entrance, Anya, (as she was more commonly known as), fumbled for a moment with her keys before unlocking the door. With her hand trembling slightly on the knob, she took one last breath of the cool night air before entering, and was three forced steps inside before the memories gripped a hold of her and she had to stop.  
  
*  
  
"...She doesn't care if you live or die."  
  
"Guess you two finally have something in common."  
  
"I care if you live or die, Xander. I'm just not sure which one I want."  
  
*  
  
"Anya's still here... chanting her little heart out. I think I've been beating on the wrong gal."  
  
"Help me!"  
  
"Can't block my spells if you can't chant. And you can't chant if you're sleepin'..."  
  
*  
  
"Giles... you have to rest."  
  
"Silly girl. I'm dying."  
  
"No you're not."  
  
"It was... It was the only way. I thought we... there'd be a chance... now... I know where Willow is. She's going to finish it."  
  
"Finish what"  
  
"The world."   
  
* * * * * *  
  
It had been a full three months since the world had almost ended, three months since Willow had destroyed the place, three months since Tara had been killed. Anya winced at that last thought more than the others. Sighing heavily and pushing the melancholy memories that had crept into her mind away, she made herself focus on the task at hand, something she had been doing a lot lately.  
  
The last of the merchandise had been cleared out the previous day and she had only to clean the place up before the first potential buyers came in tomorrow. Giles was supposed to have been there to help her but Willow had had a particularly rough afternoon (Buffy had mentioned something about blowing up an armchair), and he decided it best if he stayed home with her.   
  
Home. Yes, the Summers' residence was now home to not only Dawn, Buffy and Willow, but Giles as well. He had slipped easily back into his fatherly role with the Scoobies since his return. Recently he'd confided in Anya that he hadn't realized just how much they had needed him. She suspected (though hadn't said anything) that he had needed /them/ just as much.  
  
Anya had insisted she could handle the clean-up alone and had brushed off Giles' concern. "Don't be silly," she had said, "I may have a rather petite frame but I also have more muscle mass than you'd suspect". Now though, she'd give anything to have him here, if only to break the silence with the soft sound of him cleaning his glasses or, hell, even lecturing her on the proper way to dust oak countertops.  
  
But Giles /wasn't/ there. No one was. The silence remained intact.  
  
Anya took a deep breath and marched determinedly across the room - being careful not to trip over a fallen beam - and on down the stairs. Without a moment's pause, she promptly began the arduous task of sorting through the debris and separating it into the appropriate piles. One for dump destined material (which she could easily see would be the largest) and one for possible firewood - splintered table tops, chair legs, etc. Giles was remarkably un-English in his economical desire to salvage what they could.  
  
Aside from the light clatter of wood and clunking of various items as Anya organized the debris, the shop was still deathly quiet. She thought about humming a song to help ease her mind but all she could think of was the latest release by that very hostile young man with a penchant for tracksuits and peroxide. A man whose love of the bleach appeared to rival even that of Spike's.   
  
"No", she decided, "Cleaning Out My Closet", though ironic, also seemed extremely inappropriate - as did humming all together. "I wish I had brought that portable radio of mine" she sighed aloud.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Eight filled boxes later and a truck full of future fire wood where a livelihood had once been, Anya sat down with her Aquafina for a well deserved break. It didn't last long however, as resting only allowed her thoughts to wander into the dark shadows of her mind better left untouched, and Anya knew that distracting herself with work was the most effective way of keeping them at bay. She took one last swig of water and then made her way to what was left of the back closet to try and recover a broom and, if she was lucky, a dustpan. The broom was found fairly easily, bent a little near the top, but still useable. The dustpan however would require a search, and Anya had lowered herself to her knees in order to dig through the rubble. She lifted up an overturned drawer and jumped, letting out a gasp and clutching her hand to her chest, when something fell out of it to the ground. Her first thought had been a dead mouse but, upon closer inspection... - Tara's tarot cards. Gingerly she picked them up.   
  
Anya ran her fingers over the intricate design on the top card and was surprised to find that it was warm, as if Tara had just a moment ago been holding them, preparing to read someone's fortune. Wistfully Anya remembered the many times Tara had read her cards. The last reading had been at Buffy's birthday party, back when they had all been stuck inside the Summers' house thanks to Dawn's serious abandonment issues and one meddling "justice demon". That was of course before things had gotten scary and Tara and her had their little spat. God how they had laughed about that later, about how shocked everyone was that the two of /them/ looked like they were going to have a fistfight. The following day Xander had told Anya that she and Tara should have solved their dispute with a mud wrestling match. She remembered how Tara had blushed profusely when she relayed this little fantasy of his to her.  
  
Anya leaned back against the door frame and brought her legs out from under her a little. Carefully she undid the ribbon that held the cards together, absently coiling it around the fingers of one hand while spreading the cards out on the floor in front of her with the other.  
  
Tara had read Anya's palm as well a few times, on those particularly slow days right here in the shop. She had taken Anya's hand into her own, tracing the lines and making her brow furrow with concentration. Tara's hands were always so soft. Anya remembered the many thumb wrestling games they'd had, (of which Anya had often won). She remembered the way Tara's fingers had grazed her temples when she had done Anya's hair for the wedding and how her knuckles had caressed Anya's cheek when applying her makeup. She remembered even farther back to that night in the woods, running away from that evil demon biker gang and how Tara had covered Anya's mouth to silence her. She remembered the feel of Tara's palm brushing her lips, Tara's breath, warm and moist on her neck. Anya's heart had been beating so fast then that she thought it would burst out of her chest.   
  
She glanced over the cards, wondering if the powers of insight, foresight and whatever other kind of sight really could reside in such small pieces of... well, paper. Granted they were beautiful pieces of paper, with colorful images, fancy symbols and names like The High Priestess, The Chariot, The Moon, The Lovers...   
  
Tara had even helped Anya learn a few simple enchantments. After Anya had read in Cosmo how rose petals were a great way to "set the mood", she begged Tara to teach her how to make a rain of them fall over Xander and her when they made love. Anya smiled, remembering how Tara had spit out her soda in shock, her cheeks flushing crimson. Still, as Tara always did, she had helped out her friend. It really amazed Anya just how close they had gotten in those last few precious months. After Tara and Willow's breakup they had many lunches out together, gone for coffee, and just called each other to chat. And later when Xander left Anya at the altar, their friendship had only grown. Tara knowing what that kind of pain felt like, made Anya not feel so alone. They had been there for each other, helped each other adapt to life without Xander and Willow and really, the "Scooby Gang" itself. Over the years, this group of friends had become like family to them, the only real family either of them had. For so long their lives had revolved around this close knit bunch; in love, friendship, work and play, and to be suddenly ripped from that felt like losing an arm or a leg or, - life itself. To move on and build a new life for themselves was not an easy feat but, they had each other, a fact they constantly reminded one another of when either of them was feeling particularly down. It was like their very own mantra, "I'm not going through this alone".   
  
I'm not going through this alone.  
  
There had been numerous late night phone calls made between the two as well. Often sharing their fears and therefore allowing the burden of them to be divided. For instance, Tara had told Anya that sometimes, in the middle of the night, she would turn to the other side of the bed in a panic at not hearing Willow breathing beside her, fearing the worst. When reality set in and she realized that Willow wasn't beside her and probably wouldn't be again, Tara confided that she often wished her own breath would stop. Anya would do her best to get her friend's mind off things then by telling Tara about her day or about her former life as a vengeance demon and sometimes even earlier than that to her life as Aud. Her stories made Tara smile, and, more often that not, even laugh. Though Anya didn't always understand why sometimes, that wasn't what was important, what was, was that she was making her friend feel better.   
  
Of course, Anya was not without her own anxieties. When the absence of Xander's sleeping form made the bed seem so big Anya feared it would swallow her whole, Tara had told her to gather up all the pillows she could find and arrange them beside her to mimic his presence. Anya had been unsure about this, saying that that wasn't very "independent woman" like (to quote one of their favourite songs at the time). But Tara assured her that doing so didn't make her dependent or weak, and that if it helped her get much needed sleep she would be a stronger and healthier person for it. All the better to face the challenges that came her way. Tara reminded Anya that no one was judging her on how she handled the break-up, least of all Tara herself, the only one who would know about "Pillow Xander" anyway.   
  
Tara hadn't judged Anya on becoming a vengeance demon again either, but then again, Tara never judged anyone. Not even when Anya had wished, (to no avail of course), that a pack of chubuscus demons would hunt Xander down, lacerate his body with their eight inch claws and tear off his penis to feed to their young. No, Tara hadn't judged. Just one of the many things that was so beautiful about her.   
  
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Part 2 will pick up directly where this left off. I'm not exactly sure /when/ that will be as there are still a few things I'm not even close to being satisfied with in this next half. I knew though that if I didn't post this now I may actually lose the incentive I have to finish it. 


End file.
